


Adventures in Aesthetic

by Acting4Hope



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (oops i love that tag), Found Family, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Introspection, Let Aubrey And Indrid Be Friends 2k19, Mild Language, Not Canon Compliant, things get serious for about .8 seconds but most of it is goofs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 11:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acting4Hope/pseuds/Acting4Hope
Summary: Aubrey Little is coming over today. Indrid has no idea why.Two idiots go shopping and talk about their feelings along the way.





	Adventures in Aesthetic

**Author's Note:**

> HHHHH hello everyone. welcome to the Disaster Zone: where i am physically incapable of producing content before 10 PM. 
> 
> This idea was inspired by [this post by @goforduck](https://goforduck.tumblr.com/post/183125099392/goforduck-we-need-more-indrid-and-aubrey) (who is also [Salty_Cro on here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salty_Cro)! I highly suggest you check out his work cuz its Fuccn Spicy) that expanded my brain from a mere humble brain to Absolute Glowing Brain levels in abt .6 seconds. I put a bunch of garbage in the tags, then decided to turn that garbage into fully-fledged written garbage!! So I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Also I only edited abt 3/4's of this bc I got a case of Regretful Bitch Disease (which means the second I start to dislike something I gotta post it or else I never will), so I hope you all can live with that. 
> 
> ALSO fight me on my chris fleming facecast for indrid. i dare u. i kno the whole damn community has decided on bdg for indrid but yall are SLEEPING on chris fleming and his thrifted step-uncle aesthetic.

Aubrey Little is coming over today. 

 

Indrid has no idea why, nor do most of the futures in which she arrives show a reason. All Indrid knows is that in either an hour, twenty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds, or thirty-three seconds Aubrey is going to come bursting through the door to his Winnebago and say-- 

 

“Indrid Cold, you are an absolute  _ disaster _ !” Oh, it appears the final option was the correct timeline, as Indrid looks up from his sketchbook to see Aubrey “The Lady Flame” Little in all her punk-fire glory. She’s dressed in her usual attire; vintage band t-shirt sparsely dotted with burn holes under a red-and-black flannel that she, undoubtedly, nabbed from Barclay during Laundry Day, over which is her trademark jean vest (nearly every inch of which is covered in patches and enamel pins of all kinds), a pair of ripped black jeans and her red Doc Martens. She’s standing triumphantly in the doorway, pointing at Indrid with a fingerless-gloved finger like she has just spoken a great prophecy instead of simply...stating the obvious. 

 

“I know.” Indrid says, looking back down to his sketchbook to continue his work. The timeline he’s currently trying to sketch seems finicky, and he needs to get the finite details of it drawn out before it fluctuates again-- 

 

“Hey! I’m talking to you, Mothy!” Aubrey huffs from the door, arms thrown down in indignant protest. Indrid doesn’t spare her a glance as he continues with his work, though he does take a second to gesture vaguely at Aubrey to come inside. She doesn’t take the hint, and so Indrid sighs and sets his pencil down. 

 

“Not that I don’t want to spend time with you, Aubrey. But I’m in the middle of sketching out a very important scene, and I need to focus on finishing it before I can chit-chat.” He explains, gesturing down to his sketchbook before picking back up where he left off. “I would love it for you to stay, though, but I understand if you do not want to wait. Whichever path you choose, if you could just close the door behind you, that would be great.” He shivers involuntarily. “You’re letting all the heat out.” 

 

“Oh!” Aubrey seems to realize and quickly shuts the door behind her, stepping further into the Winnebago. “Sorry!” 

 

“It’s quite alright,” Indrid replies, quickly erasing some errant lines. “Help yourself to the fridge while you wait. I have eggnog, eggnog, eggnog, aaaaaand I think I haaaave--” 

 

“--Eggnog. I get it, Indrid.” Aubrey gives Indrid an unimpressed stare at his goofs, which Indrid may not fully see but still chuckles at regardless. Aubrey rolls her eyes (which Indrid can only tell by the way she moves her head, since she still insists on wearing those sunglasses everywhere) and makes her way into the small kitchen space, where she opens the fridge and grabs a lone bottle of water before shutting it and plopping herself down on the couch next to Indrid. 

 

A few minutes passes in this relative silence, the only noises filling the room are the whirring of the eight space heaters scattered around the Winnebago, the scratch of pencil to paper, and the occasional crinkle of plastic from Aubrey’s water bottle. Indrid can tell Aubrey’s getting antsy--the girl’s got some very obvious tells when she’s not actively trying to lie--and so he sketches out the few remaining details in relative haste. He’s not completely satisfied with the end-result, but the scene has already begun to shift and branch off, so he considers it a mission complete as he tears it out of his sketchbook and stands. Aubrey eyes him curiously as he pins it to the crowded corkboard on the wall, grabbing a loose red string and looping it around the pin. 

 

“What’s the vision of?” Aubrey asks, continuing to watch as Indrid takes a step back to admire the board in its entirety. He stares for a good long while before shrugging and walking to the kitchen. 

 

“Just a possibility of something a few months ahead,” Indrid says, grabbing a carton of eggnog and chugging straight from it. Aubrey does her best not to gag, but the sight is just so... _ visceral _ that she can’t help it. Indrid smiles at her in amusement as he brings the carton down from his lips. “Oh, come now, like you’ve never drank straight from the milk carton before?” 

 

“I don’t do anything straight.” Aubrey’s answer is automatic, and so very blunt that it causes the two of them to pause before breaking into laughter. Indrid hip-checks the fridge shut as he settles back down on the couch with his eggnog. 

 

“My apologies, you’ve never drank  _ bi  _ from the milk carton before?” Indrid corrects with a smirk, to which Aubrey playfully smacks him on the shoulder with a snort. 

 

“Not important what  _ I  _ do with my milk cartons.” Aubrey says, suddenly standing and resuming her previous triumphant stance. “What’s important here is that  _ you’re  _ a disaster and  _ I’m  _ here to help fix that!” Indrid eyes her skeptically as he takes another sip of his nog. 

 

“And what exactly qualifies you to determine my status of disaster?” He says, using his proboscis-esque tongue to get a bit of eggnog off his top lip. Aubrey makes a rather disgusted face at the sight and points. 

 

“That. Exactly that. That thing you just did with your tongue? That’s what qualifies it.” Aubrey makes another face as she seems to realize something. “Does your tongue look like that ‘cause you’re a moth? Does that mean you have big bug eyes underneath your glasses-- _ euck _ is that what the  _ glasses are for _ \--” 

 

“--Aubrey.” Indrid cuts off her ramblings with a Look that leaves Aubrey laughing a little bashfully. 

 

“Sorry…” She says, embarrassed. Indrid shrugs again and leans back against the couch. 

 

“It’s fine.” He knows his more Sylvan features are a bit disturbing to look at, especially coming out of the mouth of a seemingly-human-looking man. That being said, it’s not like it’s Indrid’s  _ favorite  _ thing to hear from people. He knows he’s not an attractive creature, but that doesn’t make the thought hurt any less. 

 

“ _ Though _ ,” Indrid says a touch too forcefully--an attempt to drag his mind out of its self-deprecating spiral, “I will say that you’ve got me curious as to how  _ you  _ can help. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s not like your  _ look _ ,” he punctuates with a gesture towards Aubrey’s mildly outlandish outfit, “is any better than mine.” Aubrey gasps in what Indrid can only assume is literal offense as she stomps over to him and grabs his tank top. 

 

“You’ve worn this thing every day since I’ve seen you last, and I know this because you have the same Dr. Pepper stain on the bottom corner since our Monopoly Night  _ two Saturdays ago _ !” Aubrey announces before gesturing to Indrid’s plaid pajama pants. “And every time I see you, you’re either in  _ these  _ or your pair of jeans that I  _ know  _ you don’t wash!  _ And _ ,” she points to Indrid’s feet, clad in plain white socks that sport a number of toe-exposing holes, “are these the only pair of socks you own?! Why are there so many holes in them?! I understand being a little thrifty, but this is just ridiculous! You have  _ money _ , you just use half of it to buy eggnog and Hot Pockets instead of things you  _ actually  _ need--which is another  _ entirely _ different issue I gotta tackle.” Aubrey takes a step back after her rant and crosses her arms in a picture-perfect display of both smugness and defiance. “In conclusion, my disaster is  _ aesthetic _ ; and yours is just...bad, man.” 

 

Indrid sees this play out several different ways. There are timelines in which Aubrey’s words hit a touch  _ too _ deep--pluck at the very defensive inner-nature of Indrid--and he kicks Aubrey out. None of those timelines look like any fun, plus they have the added factor of making Aubrey feel like she’s done something wrong, which is simply not true. Aubrey is...scarily accurate in how disastrous Indrid’s let his life become. There are other timelines in which Aubrey, from Indrid telling her or just from her seeing it on his face, realizes she’s hit on a touchy subject and immediately backtracks. Those ones are fine, but they’re not fun either. They branch off into either Aubrey leaving or Aubrey choosing to hang out, but both of those end in Aubrey feeling like shit. Which is not the ideal outcome Indrid wants from this interaction at all. He’s taken a liking to Aubrey and knows that she’s doing this with the best of intentions. So, it’s with a heavy sigh and a long chug of nog that Indrid plunges himself headfirst into the final set of timelines: owning up to his bullshit and getting some goddamn help. 

 

“Alright, Aubrey, I’ll bite. What do you want to do today?” 

 

\--- 

 

Apparently what Aubrey wants to do today is go shopping. Or, in Aubrey’s words, “go absolutely hogwild on the nearest thrift shop to get your wardrobe back in order”. Maybe not the most graceful way to put it, but it’s quintessentially Aubrey. 

 

Which is how Indrid finds himself driving Mama’s truck (because Aubrey doesn’t have a valid license) out of Kepler, since the town is a bit too small to have a decent-sized thrift store, as Aubrey fiddles with her phone. She’s got it plugged into a cassette-aux cord that’s she’s jammed into the cassette player and is now looking for something to play. Indrid’s content to sit in silence as the trees start to thin out the closer they get to the interstate. 

 

Just kidding, the silence is boring and Indrid still barely knows what Aubrey has planned. The timelines are all branching more and more with possibility, and he’s distracted by the immense amount of ways today can go horribly wrong or incredibly right when Aubrey finally finds a song and clicks play. 

 

The intro plays softly, though it gradually builds as Aubrey says, “You probably don’t know this song, but it’s a bop. Trust me.” The beat cuts for a moment as a wide grin spreads across Indrid’s face. 

 

Oh, how one human could be so wrong about a situation. 

 

“TWO TRUCKS HAVING SEX! TWO TRUCKS HAVING SEX! MY MUSCLES, MY MUSCLES INVOLUNTARILY FLEX!” Now, did Indrid need to scream the lyrics at the top of his lungs like a third grader in choir? No. Was it delightful to watch Aubrey stare at him, jaw dropped, as she came to the sudden conclusion that Indrid  _ did  _ know the hit “Two Trucks” by Lemon Demon?  _ Absolutely _ . 

 

Aubrey throws her head back and laughs in delight as the two go wild--well, as wild as one can get in a truck on a lone country road--for the duration of the song. They both end up screaming “flex” as loud as possible whenever it came in, and at one point Aubrey nearly dents the roof with how hard she’s fist-pumping into the air with glee. Indrid’s panting as the music fades back out, the occasional chuckle escaping as Aubrey also comes off of her Cicierega-induced high. 

 

“I...I didn’t know you listened to Lemon Demon,” Aubrey pants out, staring at Indrid with a bright smile. Indrid smiles and shrugs, keeping his gaze fixed on the road. 

 

“I may be a centuries-old cryptid who spends most of his days locked in a Winnebago, but I still have  _ taste _ , Aubrey Little.” Indrid explains, his grin stretching past what’s considered human as Aubrey laughs. “I’ve been told we look similar, if Neil decided to flip the switch on his aesthetics and I actually tried harder to look human.” 

 

“Eh, I mean, I can  _ see  _ it with the lankiness and all. But to me you look more like, uh...what’s his name...Oh! Chris Fleming!” Aubrey furrows her brows. “Wait, do you know--” 

 

“--I’ve heard of Chris Fleming, and are you just saying that because of the hair?” 

 

“I mean, you do let it grow a  _ little  _ long--” 

 

“--I have plans on cutting it! I’ve just...been busy….” 

 

“...Sure. Besides, if we get you dressing like Chris Fleming, then I can at least say your disaster-ness is a  _ choice _ .” 

 

“Like how yours is?” 

 

“Exactly!” 

 

Indrid huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes (though it’s entirely hidden) as he gestures to Aubrey’s phone. “Put on the  _ Spirit Phone  _ album, I haven’t heard it in a while.” Aubrey grins wickedly as she scrolls through her phone and presses play, “Touch Tone Telephone” now blaring through the speakers. 

 

“You know, Indrid, this song  **reminds me of you--hey!** ” 

 

“Sorry. It’s just that I get that  _ a lot _ .” 

 

\--- 

 

After nearly an hour of scream-singing and Aubrey desperately trying to find a song/artist that Indrid  _ doesn’t  _ know (which she never manages), they finally pull into the parking lot of a small strip mall right outside of Snowshoe. Indrid kills the ignition as Aubrey hops out of the truck and trots over to the sidewalk. Indrid follows suit, and then the two are standing in front of Snowshoe Thrift and Flea Market. 

 

“Not the greatest name for a store, but their selection is massive.” Aubrey comments as she walks toward the entrance. Indrid tilts his head as he follows closely behind. 

 

“You’ve been here before?” Indrid asks as Aubrey opens the door and walks inside. Indrid steps inside and is immediately hit with the musky smell of old clothes as he eyes the store’s many items. Despite the look of the building from the outside, the inside is quite expansive and is packed with anything and everything you can think of. Clothes, antiques, electronics, random art pieces that were probably bought at garage sales, and a few empty tables where Indrid assumes the flea-market merchants set up their wares. Aubrey takes two steps forward and then turns around to flash Indrid a grin. 

 

“Yeah!” Aubrey says, turning back around and striding towards the clothing aisles, Indrid following closely behind. “I like to grab a couple new pieces from every town I perform in, since I lost a lot of my clothes in--” She stops, suddenly, and then moves on. “I actually got this red blazer that I sequined rhinestones on to look like flames from here! It’s super awesome; I’ll show you when we get back to Kepler.” She turns to face Indrid and spreads her arms wide. “ _ This  _ is the battlefield on which we shall make our first assault to eradicate your horrid wardrobe! So, my dear comrade in glasses-wearing arms, are you ready to accept the challenge!?” Indrid snorts, but stands tall as he salutes Aubrey. 

 

“I am ready, comrade Little.” Indrid answers, posture relaxing when he manages to get a snort out of Aubrey. “So, where do we start?” 

 

“Anywhere, man! Just look around! Find what speaks to you!” Aubrey starts rifling through the many racks of clothing. “My personal rule is: if you grab it, you keep it. Don’t matter the size or shape or whatever; if it catches your eye enough to pull it outta the rack, it’s got you interested enough to wear it.” Indrid would question her logic, but as it is right now, Indrid is absolutely lost on how to pick clothes for himself. So he takes that advice in mind and begins his own quest through the crowded racks of this thrift store. 

 

A couple minutes go by with no luck on Indrid’s part. He’s gone through two racks already and hasn’t yet found a single item that “speaks” to him. He feels irritation beginning to bubble under his skin; and he’s about ready to give up and keep on living in the same two outfits when Aubrey whistles, causing Indrid to turn around and look at her. 

 

When he does, he nearly falls over at the sight of the first article Aubrey’s found. It’s a simple pair of black booty shorts, but written across the buttocks in cursive red font is the word “Daddy”. 

 

“Oh my God,” Indrid says, for lack of any better reaction at the absolutely  _ incredible  _ garment Aubrey’s picked up. Aubrey grins, wicked, as she gestures to the shorts. 

 

“You like?” 

 

“Do I like them? I  _ love  _ them, Aubrey, where did you  _ find those _ ?” Aubrey shrugs her shoulders, feigning nonchalance when Indrid can tell she’s delighted that he likes them. 

 

“Oh, ya know, found them over here. In this rack…” Aubrey drags out each word as she rifles through the rack beside her. “Right next to  _ this bad boy _ !” She pulls a hanger out as she says this, presenting to Indrid the second greatest item he’s seen today. 

 

It’s a black t-shirt with a cartoon version of his Sylvan form in the center. The phrase above and below it looks to have once said, “THE MOTHMAN IS NOT GAY!”; but some brave soul picked off most of the words, leaving the shirt announcing to the world: “MOTHMAN GAY!” It’s odd, it’s tacky, and it’s obviously been well-worn. 

 

It’s the best t-shirt Indrid’s seen in his life. 

 

“Gimme that,” Indrid says as he reaches out and takes the shirt from Aubrey. He then takes the short, too, because this is  _ Indrid’s  _ shopping spree, goddamnit. Aubrey smirks, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she watches the newfound spark in Indrid plunge him into the next rack with vigor. She knew that all it would take was one good piece, but she wasn’t expecting to basically find Indrid an  _ outfit  _ in the span of five minutes. 

 

Now that Aubrey thinks of it, she should really steer Indrid  _ away  _ from just buying graphic t’s and shorts with funny words on them. 

 

But that would be hypocritical, so she lets him go. Besides, that’s the joy of thrifting: finding dumb shit you can laugh about with your friends and then never buy. Except, this time, they’re buying it  _ all _ . 

 

\--- 

 

“Aubrey,” Indrid says, laughter already bubbling up as he finds his next piece. Aubrey, who’s about halfway through her own rack, turns to admire Indrid’s discovery. They’ve been doing this back-and-forth presentation of odd pieces for a while, each garment more ridiculous than the last. This time, it’s a graphic white t-shirt displaying Bigfoot with the phrase, “Bigfoot Sucked My Dick Behind an Arby’s Dumpster and all I Got was This Lousy T-Shirt”. Aubrey can’t hold back the cackle she lets out at the sight.

 

“Holy  _ shit _ , dude! That’s fucking perfect!” Aubrey wheezes out, grabbing the shirt from his hands to toss into their cart (which they ended up needing about two minutes into their official hunt). Indrid nods, grin splitting wide across his face as he goes back to searching. 

 

“Think we should give that one to Ned?” He suggests, smile going impossibly wider at the sound of Aubrey’s gag. 

 

“Yuck! No! Ew, why’d ya need to put that image in my head!? Ned’s, like, old enough to be my  _ dad _ .” 

 

“He  _ is  _ old enough to be your dad, Aubrey, and he’s  _ also  _ nasty enough to wear that around Barclay just to get a reaction out of him.” 

 

“...True, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate it.” 

 

“Understandable,” Indrid says as he grabs a few less amusing pieces and adds them to their cart. At this point, they’ve got a decent blend of joke-clothes and normal-clothes that has Indrid veering closer and closer to a “style”. “Do you think we have enough clothes in here, or are you still hard on your crusade to fix my lifestyle?” Aubrey shoves at Indrid, dropping a few more pieces into the cart. She looks at their load, humming thoughtfully. 

 

“I mean, we can stop if you’re getting tired. I’m good to clear through this whole store, though, if that’s what you’re asking.” Aubrey says, sticking a thumb behind her to emphasize the many racks they haven’t gotten to yet. 

 

“I would  _ like  _ to continue, I’m just worried about how ridiculous we’re going to look when we check-out.” Indrid replies, gesturing to the massive pile of clothes in their cart. “It looks like we’re trying to open our own thrift store by buying clothes from other thrift stores.” Aubrey rolls her eyes (hypothetically because, again, glasses) but at least seems to recognize how ridiculous their haul looks. 

 

“Do you really think this cashier’s gonna complain when we hand them the cash?” Aubrey punctuates her point by pulling out a wad of cash--wait, why does she have so much-- _ oh _ . The futures hit Indrid before he can give himself the ability to ask, and so he remembers that her estranged father is still wired to her bank account. And, taking a further glance at those futures, Indrid can see that’s an  _ incredibly  _ sensitive subject that Aubrey hates to even think about; so Indrid says nothing at all. 

 

Which is the wrong move, apparently, because now Aubrey’s looking to her cash in embarrassment as she shoves it back into her pocket and attempts to pass the whole affair off as casual. Which also is the wrong move, since Indrid  _ knows  _ what’s probably running through her mind right now, and Aubrey seems to  _ also _ realize this as she turns heel and walks down the aisle. Indrid feels a pang of guilt in his gut as he watches Aubrey deliberately move clothes around on the rack. He decides to venture out of his comfort zone and goes after her. 

 

“Aubrey, I--” Indrid gently grabs her shoulder and jumps when she jerks around suddenly. “I’m sorry for making that...weird. It was not my intention.” Aubrey pshaws and waves her hand dismissively. 

 

“Nah, Indrid, it’s fine! Everything’s fine!” Aubrey insists, voice a touch too forced and loud to be convincing. “I just, uh, thought I’d pay for this, since I was the one who dragged you all the way out here, but everything’s fine! I swear!” Suddenly, Aubrey turns and grabs a shirt at random, presenting it to Indrid with a smile too rigid to be natural. “How about this, bud? This good?” 

 

Indrid gazes into the futures, considering his options once more. He could press this issue right here, right now; but none of those timelines produce savory results. A lot of them end in a blow-out argument in the middle of an empty thrift store, which is bad. He could drop it entirely, pay for the clothes himself, and take Aubrey’s mind off the situation entirely. That option actually seems pretty ideal, but for some reason it doesn’t sit well with Indrid. He wants Aubrey to know she has someone to confide in, someone who understands some of what she’s been through far more than Duck or Ned. He wants to be there for Aubrey, like a real friend would. 

 

So he takes the third option, grabs the shirt from Aubrey with a kind smile, and throws it into the cart. 

 

\--- 

 

Their thrifting spree ends shortly after that, as the pair discover that they’ve basically gutted this store of all its’ interesting items. They check out, and Indrid has the exact change at the ready before Aubrey can even open her mouth to insist on paying. In the end, she doesn’t put up much of a fight and lets Indrid drop the $92.84. It takes a couple minutes to get everything bagged, but from there they load it all into Mama’s truck and head on their way. 

 

The car ride feels more tense this time around, and Indrid skims the futures to find a way to fix it. 

 

He finds his answer in the form of a sign showing a Wendy’s about a half mile up the road. Indrid smiles. 

 

“You hungry?” He asks casually. Aubrey looks up from her phone and nods. “Wanna get Wendy’s?” Indrid gestures to the next sign announcing its location on the next right. 

 

“Aw, hell yes! Frosty’s, baby!” Aubrey whoops in delight, then she seems to catch herself and looks nervously down at her jeans. “I-...I can pay, this time.” 

 

“If that’s what you want to do,” Indrid answers. The issue doesn’t get pushed further as they spend another $25 on food. Indrid parks the truck in the Wendy’s parking lot, tearing into his Baconator with inhuman fervor. Aubrey, equally, scarfs down one of the five large fries she ordered in less than a minute. The two eat in relative silence, sharing the occasional quip about what restaurant has the better french fry or chicken nugget, before Indrid decides to take his shot. 

 

“You know, I used to dress a lot better than I do now.” He starts off simple, piquing Aubrey’s interest just as he predicted. She quirks a skeptical eyebrow at Indrid, still clad in his deplorable attire from earlier today, and he can’t help but laugh. “I’m not kidding! I used to be all tailored waistcoats and long robes, back in my hay-day.” 

 

“Back in Sylvain?” Smart girl, she catches on so quickly. 

 

“Yes, back when I was the appointed Seer for the Sylvan Court. Of course, back then I also didn’t have a human disguise, so you can imagine how difficult it was for the tailors to create garments to fit my...more beastly form.” The image causes Aubrey to snort, which brings a smile to Indrid’s face. “I wasn’t born into my position, though. Seers are...rare, and it had been many centuries since a Seer had been appointed to the Court. My mother...she told me it was because I was blessed by Sylvain to protect Her and Her people, but my mentor had other ideas. Used to drill into my head how I was merely a pawn to defend the Heart, and ‘under no circumstances shall you let Her be damaged without laying your life on the line for Her.’” He puts on a convincing imitation of his old mentor, but the memory still leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He can see Aubrey watching him. It makes him want to run. 

 

He doesn’t. 

 

“I’m getting off-topic, my apologies. What I mean to say is that, while I was not  _ born  _ into my Court position, I  _ was  _ born into...the position of being in the Court. My mother was a brilliant woman, and was appointed the Court Scribe before I was ever a thought. I was born in the castle, and it was in the castle that I grew up. I was...well, I was an aristocrat. I had wealth. Something that I used frivolously, as a young adult. I didn’t understand the power of my position, and the privileges I had by growing up in the castle. As dark times befell Sylvain, I was unable to see the true issues afflicting Her people. The very people I was  _ supposed  _ to protect.” The story unfolds in Indrid’s mind like peeling a bandage off a fresh scab. It hurts--every word  _ hurts  _ to remember--but he has to make Aubrey understand that  _ he’s been there _ . 

 

“When Sylvain was attacked, I...sobered up, one could say. I was still a prick, but I knew the dangers closing in on us. So, I elected myself to go on a mission to the Other Side--to Earth--to gather as much information as possible. I wanted to predict the futures better, and I felt it would be beneficial to that goal if I understood the ways of both worlds. It was only after crossing over to Earth, meeting the exiled Sylphs that didn’t bare spare me another glance, that I realized the error in my ways. I fell in love with Earth, and in that time grew a deep resentment for my previous life in Sylvain. I didn’t want to be that pompous asshole walking the courtyard  _ ever again _ . And so...I wasn’t.” Indrid plucks at his tank top with a tired smile. “I sold off as much of my riches as I could, ditched my old clothes, and spent centuries building myself back into the Indrid Cold I  _ wanted  _ to be. After a while, I came to terms with my past and accepted that it will always remain a part of me, but it will  _ never  _ have the power to consume me. That’s why I wear these clothes, I suppose. So I always have a reminder that I’ve changed, and that it’s okay to accept your past while still changing for the better…” He turns to Aubrey, popping a fry into his mouth out of a lack of anything cooler to do. “Does that make sense?” 

 

Aubrey stares. She stares for a bit. Indrid’s mind is racing a million miles a minute--blending possibilities with hopes and fears and expectations all tying into pure and unadulterated  _ panic _ \--before he’s pulled into a solid hug. He’s barely able to register what timeline this is before he can feel Aubrey’s body tremble, and then he’s wrapping his arms around her and rubbing circles into her back as she cries into his chest. They stay like this for a while, until Aubrey’s breathing evens out and she squirms in Indrid’s grip. He lets go, watching Aubrey settle back into her seat with a warbly sigh. 

 

“I-I mean,  _ same _ , dude.” Her voice is hoarse, but Indrid can’t help but chuckle a little at her word choice. “Not like,  _ exact  _ same hat. But, ya know, similar hat? I guess?” She sniffles, wiping her nose on her jacket sleeve before grabbing her half-melted Frosty and chugging it. 

 

“Same design, different material?” Indrid offers to her hat metaphor, to which Aubrey nods with a tired smile. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, kinda...I mean, I  _ know  _ I was born wealthy. Like, middle class  _ at least _ . Mom’s family had money, Dad’s family had none. Mom and Dad got married, Mom’s family stopped calling. Classic story, I guess. Luckily, they both had good enough jobs to support me. And, like, we grew up in the suburbs right outside of Philly! I  _ knew  _ I had money, and my parents did a really good job of teaching me the value of that money. It’s just…” She trails off, tugging nervously on her sleeve. “After Mom...and the house…” She sniffles again, to which Indrid offers a napkin. She takes it and wipes her eyes before continuing, “Dad wanted me to stay with him. Go to college nearby, help him find a house, just...start over. But I  _ couldn’t _ . I had already stayed long enough, with the hearing and the trial going on. Not only that, but it was like Dad was...stuck. In the past, I mean. It wasn’t like he acted like Mom had never died, but he just...ignored it. Ignored Mom’s existence, ignored the trial, ignored... _ everything _ . And I just--I couldn’t  _ live with that _ . I wanted to live! I wanted to experience life! I wanted to  _ mourn _ , goddamnit! And so I just...left, in the middle of the night. Wrote Dad a note, told him I’d call, and just...got out of there.” 

 

“I did call, for a while, but the closer I got to the National Radio Quiet Zone, the more I felt like...I could let go. Dad hadn’t changed since the day I left, still babbled on about school and work and houses like he was doing during the trial. So I...stopped calling. And he stopped trying, I guess…” She stares at the stick shift, almost lost in thought, before frowning and pulling out the wad of cash from before. “The only thing I can’t escape is the deposits. He sends me money-- _ too  _ much money--at the end of every month. Deposits it right into my bank account. I tried to get him to stop, back when I was still talking to him, but he wouldn’t listen. Said he needed to protect his baby girl...And I still use it because it’s the only money I  _ have _ . And I  _ hate  _ using it because it’s the only money I have. But what else am I gonna do? Switch bank accounts? I don’t...I want Dad to know I’m okay, I just...I don’t think I can face him again…” She hiccups as another sob escapes her, and she smiles miserably up at Indrid. “That’s pathetic, right? A daughter who can’t even face her father but is  _ fine  _ with taking the money he sends her every--” 

 

“Aubrey, stop.” Indrid grabs Aubrey’s shoulder with a firm grip. “I’ve spent too long thinking the way you are right now, and so I know how damaging it is to your mental health. You cannot change your feelings about your father, nor can you change the predicament you find yourself in regarding his checks. The only thing you can do for yourself now is accept those two facts and move. On.” 

 

“It’s not that easy--” Aubrey attempts to back out of Indrid’s grip, but he won’t be deterred. 

 

“-- _ Yes _ , it  _ is  _ that easy, Aubrey Little. You’ve already made it perfectly clear that you do not wish to speak with your father, but are unable to stop him from sending you money. He’s obviously not doing this to guilt you into coming home because, from what I’ve heard, he just wants to support you in whatever endeavors you seek. He’s broken, and you can’t fix him, and that’s  _ fine _ . If you spend your whole life trying to fix other people, you’ll only leave yourself broken in their wake. And you already understand the power behind that money, and aren’t letting it control you, like I once let my status control me. You are already  _ far  _ better of a person than I will ever be, Aubrey Little, and I hope you understand that.” Indrid says, finishing with a firm squeeze of Aubrey’s shoulder before letting go and letting his words process. Tears roll down her cheeks again, but now she’s smiling far brighter than any sun can compare, and she’s crushing Indrid in another hug. This time, Indrid is ready for it, and squeezes Aubrey back just as hard as she laughs a little into his shoulder. 

 

“Don’t cut yourself too short, buddy,” She says as she pulls away, smile mingling with the stray tears. “I think you’re pretty great.” Indrid smiles back, feeling his own tears gather behind his glasses. He feels rather silly using a Wendy’s napkin to blot at the tears from under his spectacles, but he feels the moment is due for some silliness. Aubrey seems to agree, as she chuckles and says, “Isn’t it weird how we’re both crying and wearing sunglasses? It’s like, we’ve formed our own ‘Sad But Refuse To Show It’ squad.” Indrid laughs, too, as he takes a bite out of his lukewarm chicken nugget. 

 

“I mean, you can take your glasses off at any time. If I were to do that now, then some poor soul grabbing dinner for her soccer kids will be greeted with the sight of the Mothman eating fast food in a pickup truck.” 

 

“As much as I would  _ love  _ to witness that, I think keeping the glasses on would be best.” Aubrey replies, fiddling with the corner of her sunglasses. “Besides, I like our dynamic duo vibes we got goin’ on here. Feels right.” She grins at Indrid, and he feels something warm blossom in his chest as he nods back to his  _ friend _ and puts the keys back in ignition. 

 

“It does feel right, doesn’t it?” 

 

\--- 

 

The ride back to Kepler feels much lighter than the ride down, despite the bags of clothing sitting in the backseat and the ungodly amount of fast food sitting in their stomachs. They blast some more tunes, talk about life, and have a general goof about everything. Indrid pulls up to the Lodge without even realizing he’s done it, until Aubrey suddenly gasps and exclaims: “We gotta show off your new Look!” 

 

“My what?” He asks, killing the ignition as Aubrey turns to the back seat and starts rifling through the bags. 

 

“Your Look! You  _ know _ , what we’ve spent the entire day accumulating in the form of thrifted clothing?? We gotta give the world a taste of what the  _ new  _ Indrid Cold looks like; bold, beautiful, and one-hundred percent ready to go on a date with Duck Newton at any moment!” Aubrey announces as she flings garments to the front seat. 

 

“Wh--I-- _ hey _ , I told you that in  _ confidence _ ,” Indrid hisses, cheeks getting hot as Aubrey grins. 

 

“Yeah, confident that I wouldn’t blab to Ned or Duck about it, not confident that I wouldn’t use it to tease the hell out of you.” She emerges from the bags with an outfit in her arms, giving Indrid a knowing look. “Besides, it’s so  _ obvious  _ you two are into each other, it’s honestly laughable that you guys haven’t had an official date yet.” Indrid glares as Aubrey blows a raspberry at him and shoves the pile of clothes into his arms. 

 

“I could say the same thing about you and Dani, Miss ‘I’m Aware Of Everyone’s Romantic Situations Except My Own.’” Indrid quips back, smirking in self-satisfaction at the flustered face Aubrey gives him. 

 

“I--I’m not--This isn’t about me!” Aubrey squeaks out before opening the door and jumping out of the truck. “Just lemme know when you’re changed so I can warm the crowd up for you!” She jogs over to the entrance to the Lodge as Indrid laughs to himself. Then, he looks down at the chosen ‘fit and has another laugh. 

 

This is going to be  _ quite  _ the entrance; Indrid doesn’t need future sight to know that now. 

 

\--- 

 

Aubrey has every resident of the Lodge (including Ned and Duck, excluding Stern) gathered in the living room as she paces the main lobby. Jake Coolice is practically vibrating in anticipation for  _ whatever the hell  _ is about to happen, but the rest of the residents are just plain old confused. 

 

“Aubrey, what the hell do ya have planned?” Duck asks as Aubrey checks the window for the sixth time in two minutes. 

 

“Yes, friend Aubrey, would you mind telling us why you so desperately wanted us all gathered in the living room?” Ned adds in, taking a sip from the tea Barclay had just finished giving out before Aubrey stormed into the Lodge and demanded everyone’s attention. Aubrey pays neither man any mind as he spots something outside and suddenly dashes to the center of the living room. With a loud cough, she has the attention of the room. 

 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and those who identify as both or neither, I welcome you to this fantabulous occasion!” Aubrey announces, fully immersed in her stage-persona. “I have spent a long and arduous day pulling off a feat that will make the very  _ hairs  _ on your neck stand up in shock!” Jake Coolice gasps in response, which Aubrey greatly appreciates. 

 

“You all know of our dear, perhaps slightly estranged friend Indrid Cold,” This seems to get a response from more people, as murmurs are exchanged and some very pointed Looks are directed towards Aubrey. She grins. “Using the strength of my willpower and my keen eye, I have transformed the reclusive man into something beyond human comprehension!” Aubrey locks eyes with the main entrance and watches a pair of red spectacles eye her from the crack slowly widening. “Everyone, say goodbye to Indrid Cold and welcome in our new friend: Indrid  _ Hot _ !” 

 

And with that, the front door swings open, and every head turns to behold...Indrid. 

 

He’s decked out in firetruck red cowboy boots, fishnet stockings that trail up to a pair of black booty shorts displaying the word “Daddy” on the back, a classic black t-shirt proudly proclaiming “MOTHMAN GAY!”, trailing all the way up to his signature red spectacles and a pink baseball cap that says “bitch” in white font. All in all, he looks...certainly something, and no one can quite believe what they’re seeing. Specifically Duck, who looks torn between attraction and embarrassment as Indrid does a twirl to reveal the shorts’ message. Aubrey is clapping the entire time, along with Dani, Jake Coolice, and Ned. The rest of the Lodge? Not so much. 

 

“Aubrey, when I said you should help the poor guy out, I didn’t mean you should  _ ruin him _ ,” Mama remarks, pinching the bridge of her nose. Barclay gives a similarly exasperated look, though it’s obvious he’s holding in his laughter. 

 

“On the contrary, Mama! I think what Aubrey’s done today is...revolutionary!” Ned says, calm facade slipping as he turns to direct Indrid. “Tell me, friend Indrid, did you purchase that shirt like that, or did it...come altered?” 

 

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that, Ned.” Indrid says with a wink (somehow perfectly expressed, despite the glasses). “By the way, we got you something while we were out.” He tosses a balled-up shirt to Ned, which he expertly catches and unrolls. Indrid turns his attention towards the other Lodge residents as laughter erupts from both Ned Chicane and Mama (along with a choke from Barclay). Indrid enters the living room and stands beside Aubrey proudly, feeling somehow confident despite how ridiculous he knows he looks. 

 

“Nice ‘fit, Indrid,” Aubrey comments with a nudge. 

 

“Thanks, a friend helped me pick it out.” Indrid replies, nudging her back. Aubrey beams at him before jerking her head towards the couch. Indrid turns and sees Duck staring at him, face red and mouth agape. Suddenly, what Aubrey said in the car echoes through his head, and he feels his neck burn with embarrassment as he takes a step toward Duck. 

 

“So...whaddya think?” Indrid asks Duck as he gestures to his outfit. “A bit too much? Or just enough? I’m still not sure.” Duck stares for a long while, his gaze slowly dragging its way up to Indrid’s face. Then he continues to stare--long enough that Indrid feels like he should apologize--before he closes his mouth. 

 

“Indrid, I will pay you any amount of money to put back on yer normal clothes. Like,  _ any  _ amount of money.” Duck says (requests? begs?). Indrid wants to be surprised, but he honestly saw this reaction coming (it was one of the most common ones besides Duck simply going “it’s...good?”). With that answer in mind, though, Indrid makes one final plunge. 

 

Not before turning around and getting a quick confidence boost from Aubrey. 

 

He puts a hand on his hip, smiles, and says, “How about you take me out to dinner tomorrow night, and I promise you I’ll wear something nice?” Duck splutters, seemingly not ready for that kind of response, and Indrid can feel the confidence drain at the long stretch of silence that follows. 

 

“I-I mean, like, a date-dinner-- _ fuck _ , no--dinner-date? ‘Cause if yer, uh, askin’ like that, then uh-- _ fuck _ , what am I saying--I’d say yes! Yes? Yeah! Dinner sounds great!” Duck manages to get without imploding, and Indrid’s grin splits wide as he nods his head rapidly to Duck’s answer. And as he settles down next to Duck to shoot the shit with everyone else in the Lodge, Indrid suddenly doesn’t feel stupid in his outfit. Suddenly, he feels normal and welcome amongst his  _ friends _ \--friends he spent so long trying to tell himself weren’t his friends at all. Suddenly, he feels warm and content and far less  _ alone _ than he’s made himself grow accustomed to. 

 

Suddenly, he’s thankful for Aubrey’s split-second decisions, and Ned’s clever quips, and Duck’s stumbling phrases because they make him feel so  _ at home _ . 

 

Suddenly, he has friends. 

 

Suddenly, he is  _ loved _ . 

 

And he has a feeling--sharing a glasses-covered look with one Aubrey “The Lady Flame” Little--that he’s not alone in these feelings, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys like my writing, feel free to send requests on [my tumblr](http://lesbian--susie.tumblr.com/)!!! Or if you just wanna come yell at me abt amnesty-related stuff, feel free idc


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